The Insanity Plea (14 page)

Frederick Parke had returned to
Colorado and was sitting on his deck with a glass of Shiraz. Mozart drifted out
his door and down the mountainside. It was sunset, his favorite time of day,
particularly on this deck and with a spectacular setting sun to his right. The
only thing that might make it better would be a beautiful woman to share the
evening and the wine. Movement across the street caught his eye. Many lots were
not yet occupied and it was common for him to see wildlife at this time of the
evening. Deer, red fox and even an occasional bear were his neighbors.

On this evening a red fox was paying
him a call, moving silently through the low-lying brush, looking for an evening
meal. He was focused on watching the movement of the fox in the fading evening
light when the phone beside him rang.

“Dr. Parke here.”
          

“Dr. Parke, this is Walter Robinson,”
a deep voice with a Texas drawl said. “You know who I am?”

“Certainly, Mr. Robinson. Debbie was
your daughter. I’m dreadfully sorry for what happened to her. I must tell you,
though, that I usually avoid talking to a victim’s family. I must maintain my
objectivity. Certainly, you can understand that.”

Robinson had thought about his
conversation with Kate and the importance of his involvement in payment of the
state’s expert being kept quiet. Still, he hadn’t gotten where he was in
business and politics by sitting back and letting events unfold without direction.
He considered it critical that Dr. Parke understand he was hired for one
purpose and that was for a conviction.

“You look here, Rick, if you don’t
mind me calling you that, I don’t give a god damn about your objectivity. You
need to know that I’m paying your freight, all two hundred grand. I’m paying
for a conviction. You understand that?”

Parke lowered his voice as if a
neighbor might hear. “Mr. Robinson, I assume that you’re not recording this;
so, let me be up front with you. I work for whoever pays me. As you know, I
interviewed Dan Little yesterday. That was really just for show, but I picked
up a few things that will help me establish his sanity on the day of the crime.
With these kinds of cases, I can go either way. It’s just a matter of opinion. You
and Kate want me to spin my opinion that he was sane. I can do it. Just one
thing, you and I never had this conversation.”

“Don’t you worry, Rick. I’m a
businessman and cut deals all over the world. I have a lot of conversations
that never happened.”

The posse assembled on Saturday afternoon as planned. Duke
brought two six packs of Shiner Bock beer, a Texas favorite. After Wayne and
Duke popped a beer and the ladies chose bottled water, they took seats in front
of Rita’s entertainment system, not quite as elaborate as Wayne’s, but still
good.

“Before we get started, you should
see these emails. I made copies for each of you,” Rita said.

     
 
Sent: April 28, 2013 6:30 p.m.

     
 
From: Rita Contreras

     
To: Dan Little

Subject: Project Freedom

Hi, Dan. I’m glad you now have computer access. I think we may be the
only ones who have linked these killings. I’ve talked to HPD. They’re only
interested in the recent one on Allen Parkway. They asked me to let them know
if we started tying any of this together.
 
Here’s what I’m doing. Wayne wants me to set
alerts on my computers for any likely killing that pops up in the media
anywhere in the country. I’m not looking for domestic violence, gang murderers,
drug deals gone bad, etc. I’ve started with words that may lead to other
similar murders. From your end, you can double check me by going on line with
the major newspapers around the country. We’ll compile our own data base of
clues.

Now, turning to your personal situation. I can only imagine your thoughts
about death row. I’m here for you and am a good listener (even if it is by
email). I want to hear
what you’re thinking. Sometimes,
just knowing you have someone to talk with is important.

Fondly,

Rita

Sent: April 29, 2013 10:00 AM

To: Rita Contreras From: Dan Little

Subject: Project Freedom

Good morning, Rita.
 
I like the
title you’ve given to our mission.

I’ve been reading as much as I can about serial killers online and
there’s a lot. I learned about profilers who piece together clues to help
identify these murderers. Sometimes they turn out to have done a pretty good
job. So I decided to start my own profile of our man: (1) He’s a jogger, probably
in good shape and can run at a good clip, age currently undetermined
.
(2)
He’s familiar with jogging trails in several cities. (3) The murders we’ve
spotted have been on trails close to areas with high end hotels. (4) So far,
there’s at least one major university in every city. (5) Our killer travels
often and has not struck in the same place twice, although Houston and
Galveston are very close. (6) Good chance he travels regularly on business.

I’m going to have to stop now. Sometimes this medication makes me lose
focus. That’s happening now. My mind’s pretty fuzzy. Last, thanks for your
offer to be my sounding board. I’ll probably take you up on that as we get to
know each other a little better.

Dan

Wayne read the emails and turned to
give Rita a hug. “Thanks Rita. You two will make a good team. Also helps for
Dan to have something to occupy his mind besides worrying about the trial. Okay,
guys, which one do you want to see first, the intake or Parke’s examination?”

“Like Dr. Adashek said before, that intake
is going to be the most important. It catches Dan about twenty-four hours after
the incident. The jury will focus on that more than anything else in the case,”
Duke replied as he finished the first of his Shiners.

Claudia patted his leg. “Glad you’ve
got two giant hollow legs if you’re going to down those beers that fast.”

“Now, hon, I just came from Fonde. I
figure I’ve got about a gallon of fluid to replace.”

“Enough about beer and hollow legs,
you two. We’ll watch the intake video first,” Wayne said as he started the
interview.

An empty room appeared on the
television. The walls were the same putrid green as the rest of the jail only
this room was a little bigger than the one where they had interviewed Dan, big
enough for a larger metal table and six chairs. The camera was mounted in one
corner. In addition to the table, a two way mirror was on the wall and a metal
door could be seen on the edge of the screen.

The door opened and a deputy entered,
followed by Dan in handcuffs and shackled. Another guard was behind him, and a
man in a suit, probably a detective, brought up the rear.

“Oh my God!” Rita gasped as she saw
Dan for the first time. “Wayne, he looks like he’s barely alive. His hair’s all
gray and matted; his clothes are full of holes. Look at his eyes. They’re
hollow and lifeless. I’m surprised he can even walk.”

“Yeah,” Claudia chimed in, her voice
barely audible, “I don’t think he could overpower an eight year old and for
sure not an athletic woman. Wayne, you said he’s only ten years older than you.
He looks seventy. ”

“Quiet, guys. The suit is about to
talk.”

The two deputies had seated Dan at
the table where he faced the camera and then backed off into corners of the
room. The suit sat across from him.

“Sir, can you tell us your name?”

Dan stared for what seemed like
minutes into the camera and finally broke the silence. “Name’s Dan. Some of the
folks on the street call me Pop.”

“Your name’s Dan Little, isn’t it?”

Dan shook his head, then nodded and
said, “Yeah, that’s right.”

“I need to read your Miranda rights. You
familiar with them?”

“Save your breath if you want. I’ve
been in here enough times I can recite them myself. You have a right to remain
silent. You…”

“Mr. Little please let me do it.”

As the suit finished, Dan volunteered,
“Don’t need no lawyer. Voices tell me I was once a lawyer. Besides, they say
they’ll help me answer questions.”

The interview covered as much of
Dan’s past as he could remember. He knew he had grown up in Galveston, knew
something about being a lawyer at one time, and said that he had lived on the
street for years, but the number was unclear. As to the jetty in front of the
Galvez, he said he was commanded to be there every morning; otherwise the sun
would not rise. The suit shook his head at that comment.

Then the suit stood up, placed his
hands on the table and stared down at Dan. “Look, Dan, we can spend all day
here or we can get this over with in a hurry so we can get you some food and
water.”

“Water. Water would be nice. Can I
have some now? I missed breakfast at the Salvation Army this morning.”

“Dan, answer this question right and
we’ll get you water. We know you killed that young woman on the seawall
yesterday morning. Her blood is on your shoes. Her bracelet was in your pocket
this morning when we arrested you. Bloody tracks going away from the scene look
like they will match your sneakers. You killed her, didn’t you?”

Dan violently shook his head and waved
his arms at some person seen only by himself. Then he leaped from his chair and
backed up to the mirror, trembling from head to toe. The deputies started to
grab him but were called off by the suit.

“Dan, we really don’t even need your
confession. Only it’ll go easier on you if you tell us you did it. Come on,
Dan. Then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

Dan stopped shaking and was silent as
he appeared to be listening to someone.

“Okay, if you say I did it, I must
have. I don’t remember it, but I was there and I got her bracelet. If you want
me to say I did it, I will. I did it. I killed her. Now can I have some water?”

“Turn that fucking thing off, Wayne. I’ve
seen enough,” Duke exploded. “Not only is that our Exhibit A, it’s also basis
to strike the confession. He clearly couldn’t have understood that Miranda
warning. And I’ll bet you my Navigator that we can get Felix to throw it out. Claudia,
you get to work on a motion on Monday. You’re the brains in this outfit. Let’s
go on the attack. Now Rita, I’m ready for some spaghetti.”

Wayne was sitting in his office at
the fire station when Duke came through the door.

“Bro, our judicial system is a
disgrace,” Wayne said as he pitched several sheets of paper across the desk
toward Duke. “That’s the report from Dr. Parke. Doesn’t make any difference
what a case is about, there are whores out there in any profession with
opinions for hire. Pay them what they ask and they might as well be a
ventriloquist’s dummy, telling the jury whatever they’re paid to say even when
there’s a life on the line. Hell, if we had gotten to Parke first, he would
have lined up on our team.”

Duke settled into a chair and flipped
through the report to the conclusion where Dr. Parke picked out a few points to
show that, while Dan was psychotic, he most certainly understood that his
conduct was wrong.

As Duke tossed the report back in the
direction of Wayne, he replied, “That’s not the only way our system is screwed
up. The insanity defense in Texas has been attacked by psychiatrists and
defense lawyers for years now.”

“Yeah, Duke, I know, but you’re
preaching to the choir,” Wayne agreed. “Felix would like to go along with us,
but he can’t. And if we need that point on appeal, it means that Dan is
probably on death row.”

The two lawyers were sitting in
silence when Tod Duncan walked into the room.

Duncan was a figure who commanded
attention just by his presence. Now in his fifties, his hair was still brown
with only a few strands of grey at the temples. Except for a completely grey
mustache, he could easily have passed for forty. Regardless of his age, he
carried a reputation as one of the best trial lawyers in the country and his
record at the courthouse justified the reputation

“Well, gentlemen, am I interrupting a
séance or merely a silent prayer session?”

“We could use a few extra prayers
right about now,” Wayne said.

“Hell, forget the prayers, Tod,” Duke
said. “Maybe we just ought to put you on our team down in Galveston. All the
judges know you’re the man around this part of the country.”

“You know damn well I’d do it if
Wayne asked. But you guys are in Fernandez’s court and I suspect he’s going to
give you a level playing field without me there.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Duke nodded. “Felix
is pretty well pissed off at the state at this point for not even attempting a
plea bargain.”

Tod sat on the corner of the desk and
handed Wayne a report. “Here, take a look at this.”

Wayne glanced at the letterhead on
the report and asked, “How come you have a copy of Dr. Parke’s report on Dan? I
just got it myself this morning.”

“Look a little more closely, Wayne,”
Tod smiled. “It’s not on Dan. Parke was designated a couple of months ago as
plaintiff’s expert against Dr. Josh Reynolds, my last med mal case. I’ve been
on the road for most of the past month and didn’t even pick up on the fact that
he’s offering opinions about Dan’s sanity.”

“Wow,” Wayne exclaimed. “You deposed
him yet?”

“Nope. That’s why I’m in here. You
can’t depose him in your criminal case. I figured that you might want to have a
look at him up close and personal in my case. Schizophrenia is also involved in
mine, too. My doc is a treating physician who discharged a patient from a psych
facility. Twenty-four hours later the patient’s father killed him in self-defense.
Dr. Parke says my client was negligent in letting him out. Deposition is week
after next. You’ll have to go to Vail.”

“Tod, I’m counting the hours, no,
make that the minutes until I get there.”